


The Gloves of the Quidditch Captain

by whitedandelions



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Getting Together, Glove Kink, Hand Jobs, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:44:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitedandelions/pseuds/whitedandelions
Summary: Harry doesn’t expect to find Malfoy in a closet on a Saturday afternoon, and he certainly never would have expected for Malfoy to be cursed with a lust spell.  But he can’t just leave Malfoy by himself…not when he looks so pretty with his flushed cheeks and wide eyes.





	The Gloves of the Quidditch Captain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/gifts).



> So you got me into glove kink because of your wonderful works, so I was like, let's write a fic with glove kink so here it is!

 

Harry’s not sure how he got into this mess.

It’s Saturday, after a rigorous Quidditch practice, and it’s a day where most of the students had gone out to Hogsmeade.  Harry’s team hadn’t been very happy with him assigning Quidditch practice on a Saturday, but well, the next match was against the Slytherins, and they all know they need the practice. 

It’s not like Harry’s scared of Draco Malfoy, especially not after the War and how quiet Malfoy’s been ever since they came back for their seventh – eighth – year.  But well, Malfoy’s no longer the seeker; instead, he’s the Chaser, and well, he was  _born_  for the position.  If Malfoy had been the Chaser during the school years, well.  Harry’s not sure if they would had ever won the Quidditch Cup.

He’s distracted as he walks down the hallways, still clad in his Quidditch robes with the mark of a Captain on the right of his chest, musing about Malfoy as he’s used to doing as he’s thinking up game plans, so he’s completely unprepared when he hears the sound of voices.

Girls.

As in the girls that have been stalking him ever since Hogwarts reopened. 

There are girlish giggles, and low whispering, and Harry wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and  _shower_.  He doesn’t want to deal with more girls trying to get his autograph – because in a cruel twist of fate, that’s what his last year at Hogwarts had become.  Forget being the Chosen One back in the day, now that he’s actually fulfilled the prophecy?  If he’s ever caught alone, it’s a disaster.

So he backs up, and all but flees in the opposite direction.

Only to hear even more girls coming straight at him.

He stops still in his tracks, wondering how he can get out of this, surrounded as he is, when he notices the door he’s standing in front of.  He furrows his brows, trying to recall what the door leads to by using his memory of the Marauder’s Map, when the voices only increase.  He starts, and then takes his chance, flinging the door open and throwing himself in.

He’s in a closet.  He didn’t even  _know_  Hogwarts had a closet near the grounds. 

“Of course it’s you,” comes a voice, and Harry all but jumps in place. 

He hadn’t seen Malfoy when he barged in, but now that he’s had time to look around, he finds Malfoy lounging quite lazily on a rather extravagant couch.  He blinks, takes a quick look around once more to find himself still surrounded by coats.  When he looks back, pushing past the coats, he can see that there’s a room further in.

Malfoy seems to know what he’s thinking, because he all but rolls his eyes and beckons Harry closer.

“Magic,” he explains, and that seems to be explanation enough.  “What are you doing in here?  Did Pansy send you?”  His last question has a bit of exasperation leaking into it, and Harry stares at him now that he’s walked closer.

He hadn’t been lounging as Harry had suspected earlier; he can see the flushed quality to Malfoy’s cheeks and the way he’s breathing strangely now that he's closer.

Maybe he had run into here earlier to escape someone too.  He doesn’t wait for Malfoy’s permission, instead shoving Malfoy’s legs a bit to the side so he could sit down too.

They’re not friends, but they’re not enemies anymore.  Not after the War, not after Malfoy’s mother saved him.  So he feels comfortable enough to lean back against the wall and ask, “What are you doing in here?”

“I asked first,” says Malfoy, frowning, and Harry grins.

“Running from fangirls,” he explains.  “It’s not easy being me.”

Malfoy scoffs, but doesn’t rise to the bait.  He seems more subdued than usual, and after a second, Harry starts getting worried.  They tease each other now, and Malfoy seems content to leave him alone most of the time, but this isn’t like normal. 

He leans in close during the reigning silence, and Malfoy doesn’t seem to notice until he’s close enough to count the other wizard’s lashes.  He all but starts, nearly headbutting Harry, and his cheeks look even redder than before.

“Are you okay?” asks Harry.  “I can take you to the Hospital Wing.”

“You  _stink_ ,” Malfoy says instead of agreeing.

“I came from Quidditch practice,” he says, frowning, and reaches out a hand.  Malfoy isn’t fast enough to swat it away, and Harry presses it flush against Malfoy’s forehead.  “You’re burning up.”

“I’m not sick,” says Malfoy.

“I think you have a fever,” Harry continues, and moves to press the back of his hand against Malfoy’s cheek. 

Malfoy shoves him, but it’s weak, and all it does is press him flush against Harry.  Harry easily takes Malfoy’s weight, steadying him, and he’s worried now.  Malfoy seems to be worse off than he even realizes himself.

“I’m taking you there,” he says, and Malfoy shakes his head.

“No,” he says, and he exhales hard.  “It’s not – I’m not sick.  It’s a curse.”

For some reason, a fierce wave of protectiveness washes over him.  The Slytherins aren’t outright  _bullied_ , but they’re still not well-liked, especially since Parkinson came back as well this year.  It’s not like Harry doesn’t understand the dislike, but even he forgave Parkinson. 

“Who cursed you?” he asks and can’t stop himself from sounding furious. 

Malfoy seems to notice, because he leans back so he can look Harry in the eye.  “Didn’t know you cared, Potter.”

“Who?” he presses on, intent to go find that person and show him that curses can’t just happen willy-nilly, when Malfoy continues.

“Pansy.”

He stops breathing for a second, and then blinks as he registers what Malfoy said.  “Why?”

“It’s none of your business,” says Malfoy immediately, and Harry sighs.  He ponders for a split second if he should continue to ask why Parkinson decided to curse Malfoy, but decides not to since he’s pretty sure Malfoy won’t tell him even if he presses.

“Is that why you don’t want to go to the Hospital Wing?  What does the curse even do?”

There’s a long silence, but Harry doesn’t say anything to break it.  It’s Saturday, and the fangirls could still be outside, so he’s quite content to sit here and wait for Malfoy to tell him everything.  It’s not as if he could leave Malfoy here alone, anyway, not with him burning up next to him.

When Malfoy next speaks, it’s so quiet he can hardly catch it.  But he does, and he stiffens, turning his head to look Malfoy directly in the eyes.

Malfoy’s cheeks look even redder now, and he’s biting his lips.  The embarrassment is almost palpable, and Harry feels his own cheeks redden in response.

“And how do you break a lust spell?”

Malfoy’s answer is immediate, “What do you think, Potter?”

Harry can’t help it, he glances down at Malfoy’s words.   Malfoy’s robe has shifted to the side with all the movement, and it’s easy to see what’s straining at his trousers.  He stares at the outline of Malfoy, before he looks away, even more flustered then before.

This time, the silence is torture.  Malfoy doesn’t move to cover himself at all, even though Harry’s pretty sure the other wizard saw where he looked at.  Harry can’t help peeking at it out of the corner of his eye, and each time he does, his heart starts to beat even faster. 

It’s not – it’s not as if Malfoy  _knows_  he likes guys.  And it’s not like Malfoy wants him to help.  Or even would want him to offer to help.  He’s sure.  He’s pretty sure?

But Malfoy’s still not saying anything, and based on Malfoy’s trousers, Harry’s pretty sure he’s in pain.  And Malfoy doesn’t want to let Harry take him to the Hospital Wing, and Harry can’t just leave him here even  _if_  the fangirls are gone… and, most importantly, his own trousers are getting increasingly tight at the thought of Malfoy’s plight and it won’t be long before Malfoy notices and he really – he’s a  _hero_ , savior of the Wizarding World, so he can’t just let Malfoy die to a lust spell, right?

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

Malfoy’s gaping at him now, when Harry finally gains the courage to look up at him, and really, he looks awfully pretty with his red cheeks and wide eyes, and Harry shifts uncomfortably at the thought.

“I won’t owe you anything?” Malfoy finally asks, and Harry’s sure he’s too quick in his actions to shake his head.   Malfoy looks suspicious though, but his trousers are still straining, so Harry’s not too surprised when Malfoy reaches out with a shaky hand. 

They should probably talk about what they’re going to do.  Harry’s not even sure if Malfoy’s in the right mind to do  _anything_.  But Malfoy doesn’t hesitate, even though his hand’s shaking, and Harry keeps his hand limp just in case Malfoy decides to change his mind. 

Malfoy doesn’t though; instead he undoes his belt with a single hand, his other hand still holding tightly to Harry’s.  It happens so suddenly, that it takes Harry a minute to process that his hand is on Malfoy’s dick.

And that he’s still wearing his Quidditch gloves.

“Wait,” he says, “I can take them off.”

“And have your actual hands on me?  Please,” says Malfoy, and it’s only the way Malfoy’s breath hitches halfway through the line that clues Harry in.

It’s getting Malfoy off to have his gloves on him.  They’re fingerless, so it’s not as if Harry can’t feel Malfoy with his fingertips, so he doesn’t complain.  But his cheeks only feel hotter at the thought that Malfoy  _likes_  this, and Malfoy continues to move Harry’s hand up and down his length.

Malfoy’s breaths are stuttering and his eyes are closed, so Harry’s free to look all he wants.  So he does, his own dick straining as he stares at the way his hand curls around Malfoy.  It looks so dirty; he’s so used to seeing his gloved hands clutch onto the shaft of his broomstick, that to see it here – wrapped around Malfoy, of all people, makes it feel even dirtier than normal.  And it’s turning him on beyond belief, to hear Malfoy’s whimpers and to see the way Malfoy’s getting off by his hand.

It seems to be all Malfoy needs – his hand, and not Harry helping him at all with the handjob – and he finishes hard, the breath leaving him in one long hiss. 

It’s not hard to feel detached, since he’s not doing much, but the feeling of Malfoy’s warmth getting onto his hand makes him sit up. 

His gloves are probably ruined.  Though he doesn’t mind much, not when it’s all because of Malfoy.

“Are you feeling better?” Harry eventually asks, and Malfoy’s cheeks aren’t as red anymore.  He looks beat though, his shoulders slumped, so Harry is completely surprised when Malfoy suddenly slides down onto his knees.

He moves faster than Harry thought he could; Harry, himself, can barely move after coming for at  _least_  five minutes.  But Malfoy is there in seconds, on his knees, in between Harry’s legs.

Staring straight at his erection.

He freezes, unsure of what to say next.

“You’re hard,” Malfoy finally says. 

“Well,” he says, feeling the strange urge to defend himself, “I was helping you.”

“And you liked it…?” Malfoy’s words turn into a question at the very end, and Harry can hear the insecurity in it. 

“I like boys,” he offers, because he’s just let Malfoy cum all over his Quidditch gloves, the least he could do was be honest.  “And you’re attractive.”

Malfoy looks vulnerable as he stares up at Harry, his mouth falling slightly open at the thought, before the look’s gone in the next second.  “Of course I am,” says Malfoy, and Harry really would roll his eyes if Malfoy wasn’t still staring at him, because of course that’s what Malfoy chooses to focus on.  “Really, you should be thanking me.”

This time, he  _does_  roll his eyes because Malfoy is absolutely ridiculous.  “Should I?  Thank you for letting me help you not die to a lust curse or whatever it is?”

“Don’t be silly,” says Malfoy, “I wouldn’t have died.”

Harry stares for a second, unsure of how to respond to Malfoy’s flippant regard of a curse, when Malfoy suddenly leans forward. 

“And I don’t want to owe you,” says Malfoy, conveniently forgetting that Harry had assured him earlier that he  _wouldn’t_ owe him, and goes slowly enough that Harry could stop him if he wanted to.

But he doesn’t, because he’s still frozen at the thought that Malfoy’s reaching for his belt, and well, it’s not like he would protest to a pretty boy giving him a handjob – even if it was Malfoy, even if the two of them had history (and not all of it, good) and maybe especially since it’s Malfoy…

Hermione was right, after all, there had to be a reason Harry was so fixated on Malfoy during his sixth year.

When Malfoy finally gets his hands on him, Harry lets out a surprised yelp when Malfoy doesn’t do what he thinks he was going to.  He thought Malfoy would be content to give him a return hand-job as thanks, but no, there’s warmth surrounding his dick, and that’s definitely Malfoy’s lips on him.

“Malfoy,” he starts, but falls silent because Malfoy sucks particularly hard at that moment and it’s clear that Malfoy really doesn’t want to talk right now.  So he closes his eyes instead, and tries to ignore the fact that his day has gone a completely different way than he thought.

And it feels  _good_.  It’s obviously not Malfoy’s first time, and it’s almost too much for him when he finally opens his eyes again.  Because Malfoy looks so pretty like this, with his cheeks hollowed out around his dick and his platinum locks falling across his face.  The picture only reminds him of dreams from the past, when he had just been starting to figure out his sexuality, when he would feel guilty dreaming of Malfoy even though they hated each other.

He’s close, but he’s distracted by the way Malfoy’s started palming himself.  Malfoy’s hard.  Again.

Probably because of the lust spell, but still, Harry’s impressed. He reaches out, and buries his – dirty – gloved hand into Malfoy’s locks, and Malfoy stills.  He pulls himself off with an audible pop, and looks up with a question in his eyes.

“Come up here,” he says, and Malfoy frowns.

“Is that an order, Potter?” he asks, but he obediently does what Harry asks.  He straddles Harry without much trouble, and he’s close enough that Harry just leans forward a bit to capture Malfoy’s lips into a kiss.  It still tastes like him, which does make him grimace a bit, but more importantly, he’s kissing Malfoy so he takes the opportunity to ravish him like he’s wanted to do ever since this all started.  

He snakes a hand in-between them, and then wraps his gloved hand around Malfoy’s dick once more.  This time, he doesn’t let Malfoy set the pace; instead, he jerks it just as he usually does for himself, making sure to set a rhythm that makes Malfoy shudder in his embrace.  He doesn’t let Malfoy’s lips go, and instead, continues a furious pace until Malfoy comes all over him once again.  Harry’s sure his gloves would never get the stains out now, though it’s not like he’ll want to wash them.

Malfoy’s listless this time, slumping forward in his embrace, and Harry wonders just how long this lust spell is supposed to last.  It isn’t – it’s not a hardship to help Malfoy, but well, Harry’s sad to see it end.  He doubts Malfoy would let Harry jerk him off without extenuating circumstances, no matter how much Harry wants to.

Deep in his morose thoughts, he jumps when Malfoy reaches behind him to grip his dick.  He’s breathing harshly, and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes glazed, but he’s staring at Harry with a challenge in his eyes.  “Ever fucked someone before?” he all but bites out, and Harry’s sure he looks like an idiot with his mouth agape.

“No,” he admits, and Malfoy’s eyes widen. 

There’s a long silence, and then Malfoy slowly lets go of his dick.  “Never would have guessed you were still a virgin, Potter.  What about the Weaselette?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he says, “But no, we never – there wasn’t any time and then after the War…”

It’s a weird time to be having a serious conversation, but Malfoy doesn’t seem inclined to get off of him.  The lust spell seems to have abated, and Malfoy’s cheeks aren’t as flushed as before, but Harry’s still achingly hard.  It’s taking all of his concentration to keep focused on Malfoy’s words.

“Your first time should be special,” Malfoy eventually says, and Harry blinks.  That was the last thing he thought Malfoy would say.  “So not with me.”

“It could be special with you,” he says.

Malfoy looks exasperated with him, “You don’t even like me.  You’ve never liked me.”  He looks oddly vulnerable, and Harry reaches a hand up to push some sweat-matted locks out of Malfoy’s face, but stops halfway, because his glove is cum-stained and he’s sure Malfoy wouldn’t want that on him.  He drops his hand back down, his heart beating fast as he tries to figure out what to say.

He decides on the truth.

“I do now,” he says, and Malfoy scoffs.

“Because of your hero complex,” he says, “Because the Slytherins are  _bullied_.”

“That’s not it,” he says.  “Back when we were younger, yeah, we had our differences, but real hate?  That’s – I never felt that for you.”

“You didn’t  _like_  me,” says Malfoy, “not like – not like I liked you.”

That’s a confession.  Malfoy liked him.  It’s making his head spin, because sure, wet dreams were one thing, and appreciative glances during their eighth year, but liking him?  Before this, Harry never would have guessed that Malfoy liked him – tolerated him, yes, but liked? 

“For how long?”

“Since forever,” says Malfoy.  “Does it really matter, Potter?  You don’t like me and I  _liked_  you.”

He leans forward, close enough that Malfoy just stares at him warily.  “You still like me or else we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“You walked in yourself!” argues Malfoy.

“You asked me if Pansy sent you,” he says, “and I was wondering why since she’s the one who cast that lust spell on you.  But you  _wanted_  me to find you.”

Malfoy’s cheeks are red again, but this time, it’s not because of the spell.  He looks at a loss of words for the first time Harry’s known him, and it’s oddly endearing.

Malfoy’s done a lot of things today that he never would have expected, and Harry thinks that maybe he’s liked Malfoy for a long time now.  He just hadn’t wanted to even explore that option because what would Hermione and Ron say?  But well, Malfoy’s changed – no  _Draco_ ’s changed and that’s good enough for him.

“And what if I do like you?” he asks.  “Have for a long time and just didn’t know it?”

Draco looks as if he doesn’t believe him, so he presses on.  “Why else would I have offered to help?  I wouldn’t offer to help just anyone.”

“Hero complex,” says Draco weakly, but Harry shakes his head.

“No,” he says, quietly, “I offered because it’s you.”  This time, he doesn’t wait for Draco to protest again, and presses his lips against Draco’s.

It only takes a second, and then Draco’s kissing back, and it’s almost tender, a far cry from their kiss earlier.

Until it’s not.  Draco deepens the kiss and it’s almost as if he can’t get enough of the other wizard.  He holds Draco flush to his chest, ravishing him and exploring his mouth until there’s saliva connecting them.  It feels right.

When they break apart, it seems as if everything should be done.  But –

“Did the lust spell wear off?” he asks, and Draco looks sheepish, for a lack of a better word.

“It’s not fatal,” is all he says, and Harry’s moving so he can get them both into a better position.  As soon as he’s sure Draco won’t fall, he reaches behind the wizard, hooking his fingers into Draco’s belt and pulling down.  Draco yelps in surprise, but doesn’t move as Harry gets the rest of the trousers off as much as he can.

“Are you sure?” asks Draco after Harry’s hands are back on his hips.

Harry nods, and Draco looks determined.  He pushes Harry back so he’s leaning against the wall and gives a small smile before he’s seating himself directly down onto Harry.

The warmth that surrounds him is something he’s never felt before, and it feels good enough that he throws his head back in the bliss.  He has a thought that there’s no way Draco should be so  _open_  since it is his bum, but well, it’s not like he has a single coherent thought left in his mind to voice it.  So he just enjoys it, enjoys the way Draco’s hand feels gripping onto his shoulder as Draco slides his body up and down.

“If I left it to you,” Draco is saying between pants, “We’ll get nowhere, virgin as you are.”

And Harry would be offended, but Draco’s right.  They  _would_  get nowhere.  So he doesn’t retort, and lets Draco continue to whisper stuff as he simply lays back and enjoys whatever Draco’s doing.

When he opens his eyes again, Draco’s staring at him.  He looks amused, even as sweat drops down his face, and he pulls Harry into a fierce kiss.  Since it’s his first time, Harry knows he’s not going to last much longer, especially with Draco kissing him.

He moves a hand to wrap around Draco, causing Draco to tense around him.  Harry groans at the sensation, but doesn’t let up, determined to not be the one to come first.

He isn’t, but it’s a near thing.  As soon as Draco is coming, his cum splattering all over the front of Harry’s Quidditch uniform, he tightens up so much that it almost hurts.  But Draco’s face as he finishes is so breathtaking that Harry can’t hold back anymore.

Everything seems to stop for a second, for a few long seconds as he tries to get back his breath.  Draco’s not saying anything either, both of his arms looped around Harry’s neck and his face in the crook of Harry’s neck.  Harry recovers first, reaching a hand up to place on Draco’s back.

“That was amazing,” he says, his mind too blown to say much of anything else, and Draco laughs.

“’Course it was,” is all Draco mumbles into his neck.  They fall into a comfortable silence, even with Draco half-clothed and still straddling him.  They stay there long enough that Harry wonders if Draco’s planning for the two of them to sleep there.

He’s about to ask when Draco moves, sliding off him and pulling up his pants in the next second.  Harry’s too shocked to say much, and too languid to even move, so he just watches as Draco moves around to find his robes, shrugging them on.

He wonders if this is the end – if the confession was just a ploy to get the lust spell to dissipate.  He wouldn’t be surprised, even if it would  _hurt_  to not hold Draco again, but then Draco is fixing his gaze on him.  He pulls his wand out, straight toward Harry, and Harry wonders if Draco’s going to  _obliviate_ him.

But no, all Draco does is to spell his own cum right off of Harry’s Quidditch robes.  He purses his lips, and looks to do the same to Harry’s gloves when Harry shakes his head.

“I have a spare,” he says, and Draco pointedly looks down at Harry’s gloves and then back up at him.  It takes a second, but then Draco’s cheeks are as red as they were when Harry first came in, and he turns away, shoving his wand back into his pants.

“Well,” says Draco, “are you coming or not?”

“To the Slytherin Common Room?” 

“Someone needs to teach Pansy a lesson,” Draco says, and it sounds like Harry should protest, since well Parkinson's little spell  _did_  get Draco to confess to him, but well, if Draco wants to punish his friend, it’s not like Harry’s going to protest.

And this means that Draco is still  _his_ , so he stands, zips up his pants, and throws an arm around Draco’s shoulders.  Draco looks annoyed, but he’s still flushed from getting fucked, so Harry counts it as a win anyway.

 


End file.
